


Survival

by KnifeyShivdark



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Love is Weakness, a little angsty, and some attempted comfort, not really a happy one
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 12:16:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7757521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnifeyShivdark/pseuds/KnifeyShivdark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A moment between Lexa and Clarke, after their first kiss but before the whole thing at mount weather. Lexa is full of feels, but hey, conceal don't feel, right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Survival

**Author's Note:**

> first time fic, ya'll. hope you like it! it's a work in progress, currently working on chapter 2.

The crowd had been cheering outside earlier. Now there were only a few voices, quietly speaking praise. Quietly, yet with an assured tone. Conversing about their leader, the great Heda, and all of her triumph. Discussing whether the magnitude of her success was a result of her unrelenting commitment to her people, her strategic mind and prowess in battle or something else entirely, some unknown force that only Heda could fathom, being, as they all agreed she had been, chosen by the previous commanders.

Lexa herself was not so sure.

She opened her eyes. Her throne stood in front of her. Throne. The word was fitting for a leader and for a leader’s appearance. It was not befitting for her, though, not truly. The people on the other side of the furs that made out her tent would disagree but Lexa seldom found herself agreeing with the public’s image of her. Mostly she only agreed with the need for formality and unselfishness. Anya had taught her many things when she had been her second, and one the most important lessons had concerned what she had called “The Idea”. This meaning the single most prominent idea among the people; members of the 12 clans or members of any other group they ever encountered. The idea that the Heda was both an unstoppable force and an immovable object at all times. This idea had to be maintained and doing just that meant executing nothing other than extremely carefully deliberated actions. The role of the leader was one of loneliness, as she so often had been told. And so all the deliberation weighed upon her shoulders and her shoulders alone. She blinked. She breathed out.

It should not become a habit of hers, she thought, to indulge in self-pity. Meditation was for focusing, for being able to clearly grasp the voices of the prior commanders inside her head and for sharpening her senses. _Focus. Eyes closed_.

She imagined an empty space. A white nothingness consuming even the most tiny thought or feeling. Then she started searching for her limbs. The ground was hard against her legs and bottom. Cold too? No, more like lacing of temperature. With her breathing, she could feel midriff pulling down, her ribcage giving way and allowing her lungs to be filled. One breath was held back for one, then two, then 3 seconds. _Exhale_.

Her arms were slumped in her lap. Her hair hung loose, covering her shoulders and ending at the lower end of her back. It had taken far more time to untangle it than it had taken her to braid it yesterday morning. But what was soon turning in to two full days of being awake would do that to anyone. What was that sky-phrase she had heard some of Clarke’s people say? No rest for those that were wicked? Did they consider her wicked? If so, she would not blame them as she knew better than anyone exactly how they felt about her and why they did so. Clarke had felt that way about her too.

Muscles in her forehead tensed and she felt a slight frown form between her eyes. Again, indulging. She was getting nowhere. She was wicked and so she was deserving of no rest.

At the touch of a finger to her eyebrow, she opened her eyes, one of her hands already by her side, surprisingly feeling nothing but air where her dagger had been just a second before. She saw blue eyes and long, blonde hair. Clarke. Her body relaxed, then tensed mid-sigh.

“How are you in he-?”

“How am I in here? I walked through the entrance, Lexa. Your guards know me by now, you know.” Clarke had a cautions smile on her lips. A rare thing these days. A thing that Lexa held so dear. Clarke had very few reasons to smile, yet managed to when they were alone. Sometimes Lexa smiled too. This was not one of those times and as soon as Clarke realized her smile would not be reciprocated it stiffened and turned worrisome.

“You should finish that sigh. Your people need you alive.”


End file.
